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Lend A Hand 

Charles M. Sheldon 

Author of “IN HIS STEPS’* 









Lend a Hand 


THE LOOKING UPWARD BOOKLETS 


Each with a distinct message 
of its own, calculated to inspire 
the reader to higher things. 
Exceedingly chaste bindings 
lend an additional charm. 

Illustrated, i2mo , de- 
corated boards, each, joc. 

Agatha's Unknown Way, 

By "Pansy.” A story of 
missionary guidance. 

The Dream of Youth. By 
Hugh Black. M. A., author 
of "Friendship.” 

The Spirit Guest. By Jose- 
phine Rand. The Story of 
a Dream. 

The Young Man of Yesterday. By Judge A. W, 
Tenney. 

Did the Pardon Come Too Late? By Mrs. Bal- 
lington Booth. 

Comfort Pease and Her Gold Ring. By Mary E. 

Wilkins. 

My Little Boy Blue. By Rosa Nouchette Carey. 
A Wastrel Redeemed. By David Lyall. 

A Day's Time Table. By E. S. Elliott, author 
of "Expectation Corner,” etc. 

Brother Lawrence; or, The Practice of the Pres- 
ence of God. 

The Swiss Guide* By Rev. C. H. Parkhurst, D.D. 
Where Kitty Found Her Soul. By Mrs. J. H. 
Walworth. 

One of the Sweet Old Chapters* By Rose Porter. 
The Baritone's Parish. By Rev. J. M. Ludlow, 
Child Culture. By Hannah Whitall Smith. 
Risen With Christ. By Rev. A. J. Gordon, D. D. 
Reliques of the Christ. By Rev. Denis Wortman. 
Eric's Good News. By author of "Probable Sons.” 
Ye Nexte Thynge. By Eleanor A. Sutphen. 
Business. ” By Amos R, Wells. 



LEND A HAND 


/ 


RY 

/ 

CHARLES M. SHELDON 


author of “In His Steps,” “One of the Two,” “For Christ and the Church,” 
etc., etc. 



Fleming H. Revell Company 

Chicago : New York : Toronto 

1899 

/ t* 



-■ Jix.J '.;uK f, 

1699. 



38463 

Copyrighted, 

1899, 

By Fleming H. Revell Company 


TWOOOfMCS RECEIVED. 



H-Vl. 13% 

V- 


LEND A HAND 


Old Judge Brewster was unpacking a box of books 
in his library. There was a smile on his stern face as 
he took out certain volumes and arranged them in a 
particular case of books that were evidently bound in 
the most expensive style. 

He had been at work for half an hour handling the 
books slowly and lovingly when a servant came into 
the library with a telegram. 

“The boy is waiting, sir,” she said, as the judge 
made no movement to sign the book she held. She 
had put the telegram on a table where the judge had 
motioned her to place it. 

“The boy can wait a little longer,” replied the 
judge curtly, and he went on with his work. 

The servant, who understood Judge Brewster’s 
ways, hesitated only a moment. She laid the book 
down by the side of the telegram and went out of the 
room. 

Five minutes went by. The judge continued his 
unpacking. His disregard for the telegram was 
characteristic of his grim nature. The boy was sit- 
ting on the front door step, whistling a popular tune. 


4 


LEND A HAND 


He was no more disturbed by the delay connected 
with the telegram than the judge was. He was used 
to carrying messages of all kinds to all kinds of 
people, but he wae not used to this contempt for 
telegrams that was being shown on this occasion. 
Nevertheless he was well satisfied to sit out there in 
the sun and whistle, until his book came back with 
the judge’s signature. 

The judge deliberately finished taking all the books 
out of the box, and placed them carefully on the 
shelves. Twice he changed the location of a certain 
volume. At last he seemed satisfied with the arrange- 
ment, and turned towards the table where the tele- 
gram lay. 

He opened it without any show of curiosity and 
read it through mechanically. 

“Come at once. Monroe has had serious accident. 

“Harold West, Hope College.” 

Judge Brewster had two passions ; a love of books, 
and a love of his only son Monroe. He had just been 
gratifying his first passion ; his second seemed likely 
to prove a source of bitterness and anguish to him. 

The stern old face grew white as he grasped the 
meaning of the message, and for a moment he held 
the back of a chair with a hand that trembled in spite 
of its agonizing grip on a support that seemed very 
frail for the massive frame of the man who stood 
there staring hard at the yellow piece of paper still 
held in the other hand. 

He read the message again, and his form stiffened 


LEND A HAND 


5 


as if to repel a shock. Then he picked up the book, 
signed his name and took out his watch. He took 
three strides to the door, opened it and called for the 
servant. 

When she came ho ordered her to carry the book 
out to the boy and then he turned to his telephone 
and called for a hack. 

“Tell the driver to be here at once. I must catch 
the Ho. 5 for the East,” he ordered sharply. 

Half an hour later he had telegraphed to Hope 
College that he was on the way to his son and an 
hour after he was seated in the train, a two days’ 
journey before him, his heart tossed with a tempest 
of fear and his mind going over and over the words 
of the telegram while his body was carried on towards 
the grim uncertainty outlined by the words, “serious 
accident.” 

Three days later a curious group of people at 
Waverley station watched a tall, large man get out of 
the west-bound flyer, Ho. 7. There was some re- 
spect but not any kindlier feeling shown in the faces 
of the platform loungers as Judge Brewster went for- 
ward and stood silently by the baggage car until a 
long plain box was carried out and placed in the 
undertaker’s wagon. Then the judge, in company 
with two friends, drove up to the undertaker’s and 
an hour afterwards a hearse brought a coffin out to 
Judge Brewster’s and they brought it into the 
library, and when the people had gone away for a 
little while, Judge Brewster opened the coffin and 
looked down at the face of his only son. 


6 


LEXD A HAND 


It was said about Waverley that afternoon that 
Judge Brewster never shed a tear during the funeral 
service. But those who knew, or thought they knew 
him, said his hard old heart was broken. The day 
after the funeral the judge shut himself into his 
library and refused to see any one. The old brick 
mansion on Summit Hill contained a rich, educated, 
broken-hearted man, who was apparently without 
God and without hope in the world. 


“Donald! Donald!’ ’ the voice of a girl called out 
of the kitchen of a farm house to a boy who was sit- 
ting in the other room, buried in a book. 

Perhaps the word “buried” is too weak a word to 
describe the condition of the boy. “Drowned” 
would be a good substitute, or even “cremated.” 
He was totally insensible to all outside noises. It 
was refreshing or would have been to any one outside 
the family to see how completely oblivious the boy 
was of everything on earth except his book. 

“Donald!” the voice called again. And then the 
owner of the voice stopped her work and came to the 
door of the kitchen and looked into the other room. 

She was a determined looking girl with a good 
honest face. She was not pretty in the ordinary 
sense, but there was a pleasant expression in her 
eyes and she had the hearty look that always goes 
with health when the owner of it is a person of 
decided character. 

The boy in the other room had his elbows on a table 
and the book lay between them. A small kerosene 


LEND A HAND 


lamp was very close by him and the room was only 
dimly lighted by it. 

“Donald!” cried the girl again, and as she spoke 
she stepped into the room. “I want you to get me 
a pail of water. And your father has been calling 
you for some time. He wants you to help him at the 
barn about something.” 

Still the boy did not move, nor give any sign that he 
heard. He turned over a leaf and went on reading, 
the look on his face as intent on the matter in the 
book as if he were in the middle of a desert island a 
thousand miles from any other human being. 

The girl went up to the table very deliberately and 
blew out the little lamp. 

The look of dismay on the face of the boy must 
have been remarkable if his action was anything to 
judge his feelings by. There was a sudden scramble 
of hands and feet as he felt the book disappear so 
suddenly and unexpectedly, and a wail in his voice 
that made the girl laugh out loud. 

“Oh, what did you do that for? I was in the most 
interesting part!” 

“Donald Wallace, you get a pail of water for me 
llrst and then go out to the barn and help your 
father,” said the girl as she went back into the 
kitchen. 

“Why didn’t you call me if you wanted me?” asked 
the youth, coming to the kitchen door. He was 
absolutely good-natured after the first shock of the 
lamp episode was over, and he took up the water pail 
and started to go outdoors. 


8 


LENT) A HAND 


“Call you! Is my voice like the voice of many 
waters?” 

“It’s like the voice of a pail of water a good many 
times,” replied Donald a little humbly, but with 
more humor than most people imagined he had. 

“Do you mean to say that you never heard me call 
you?” 

“I never did. You know I didn’t, Florence. I’m 
always ready to answer when I do hear ; isn’t that so?” 

“Why, yes, I believe you are,” replied the girl as 
good-naturedly as the boy. “But when you get hold 
of a book you wouldn’t hear the last trump, to say 
nothing of the first. I’ve a good mind to hide your 
book for a week.” 

“No, don’t do that!” the boy spoke in a tone of 
alarm, as if the thing had happened once before. 
“I’ll keep one ear open after this.” 

“One ear. If you had a dozen ears they wouldn’t 
hear anything when you are reading. But I won’t 
touch the book if you’ll get the water. And there’s 
your father calling you again.” 

The boy went out hurriedly and came back in a 
few minutes with the water. He set it down on the 
bench and the girl said in a hearty voice, “Thank 
you ! I would have gone after it myself, but I want to 
get this work done before your mother and the girls 
get home.” 

“I’ll bring in the water and the wood, of course. 
That isn’t a girl’s work,” said Donald as he started 
to go out to the barn. 

“All right,” said the girl with great good nature. 


LEND A HAND 


9 


I “Hope you’ll always have the same advanced ideas on 
woman’s rights. 1 ’ 

“Hope I shall,” replied Donald as he disappeared 
i in the direction of the barn. 

A little later the entire family, including the 
mother, who had driven into town with the two girls, 
both of them several years younger than Donald, 
were in the sitting-room of the little farm house. 
The girl in the kitchen was still at work doing the 
last things. 

Mrs. Wallace was showing some purchases she had 
made in town. 

“There’s the baby’s shoes and Helen’s hat. And 
here is the cloth that Florence wanted for aprons. 
Florence, won’t you come in and see if this is what 
you want?” 

“Yes, ma’am, in a minute,” replied the girl, and 
very soon she joined the family. 

“Did you get my book, mother?” inquired Donald 
eagerly, while the women were discussing the apron 
cloth. 

“No, dear, I couldn’t find it. I don’t think there 
are any copies of that in town.” 

The boy’s look expressed great disappointment. He 
was silent a moment. Then he said, “Judge Brew- 
ster has it. But it’s no use. He wouldn’t lend it. ” 

“How do you know he wouldn’t?” asked the girl. 

“Oh, that makes me think!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Wallace. “Judge Brewster brought home the body 
of his son Monroe from Hope College to-day. He 
was killed in an accident of some sort.” 


10 


LEND A HAND 


There were several exclamations. 

“Monroe Brewster was a promising young fellow,” 
said Mr. Wallace thoughtfully. “About the age of 
our boy. A great student, too, I understand.” 

“It must be a great blow to him. Think of him 
alone in that great house with all those books. They 
say he loved only his books and his son.” 

“A man can’t love books with much comfort after 
losing such a boy,” said Mr. Wallace again with 
grave thoughtfulness, and the talk of the family 
drifted into other subjects. They had known the 
Brewsters only slightly. 

But that night Donald Wallace lay awake a long 
time thinking about the books in Judge Brewster’s 
library. He had a passion for reading. His father had 
promised him that if the crops turned out well that 
summer he would send him to college in the fall. 
The boy looked forward to that event with an eagerness 
that craved all the preparation possible. He found 
himself praying for rain and good weather and began 
to think of the crops as a part of the possibilities that 
were to figure in his opportunity to gratify his most 
thirsty soul for reading and mind culture. 

He had helped himself so far. Every farm house 
between his father’s and the town of Waverley had 
contributed to his devouring book appetite. Many 
of the small libraries in the town had also yielded up 
their best volumes to him. But Judge Brewster’s 
house was unknown to him except for its reputation 
as containing the finest library and art collection in 
the State. 


LEX I) A IIAXD 


11 


The boy thought of all this a great deal. This 
evening after the news of the death of Judge Brew- 
ster’s son, Donald Wallace thought of the old man, 
stern, alone, in his library. 

It was a week after Judge Brewster had buried his 
son that Donald, his mother and one of the sisters 
had gone to Waverley on some errands. The young- 
est child remained at home with Florence Raynor, 
who had been working for the Wallaces now for five 
years. She was an orphan and had grown up to be 
one of the family circle. Mrs. Wallace, who had 
been in feeble health for many years, trusted Florence 
as if she had been her own daughter. The last seen 
of her by the mother and Donald, as they drove into 
town, she was standing by the door of the farm house 
cheerily waving a dish towel at them while little 
Louisa stood by her side waving her hand in farewell. 

Three hours later a tremendous change had taken 
place in the soft, sultry afternoon. A black cloud of 
gigantic, threatening shape had come up swiftly out 
of the southwest, and the air had blown hot and then 
died out to a deadly stillness. 

Florence came to the door of the farm house, and, 
shading her eyes, looked olf across the familiar stretch 
of road. There at a distance of three miles she 
thought she could make out the sorrel team with 
Donald and the mother and young Helen on the way 
homo. Little Louisa was upstairs asleep. Mr. Wal- 
lace was at the farther end of the farm, where he 
had gone to see about some stock. 

The air suddenly stirred and a darkness like even- 


12 


LEND A HAND 


ing grew about the farm, although it was only four 
o’clock. The wheat and corn fields, magnificent 
stretches of color, bent to that strange wind as if in 
fear of the coming terror. 

And then Florence realized what was to take place. 
She rushed upstairs and looked out of the west 
windows. She had never seen so awful a sight. 
The great cloud was twisting and roaring, and all 
under and around it white and green lightning 
played. The roar had deepened into an awful sound 
which leaped as it were right out of a vacuum of 
silence. 

She snatched up the child and ran downstairs. 
The cellar door opened from the kitchen and so 
swiftly had the storm come up and burst upon the 
land that she had barely time to open the door and 
run down the cellar steps with the child before the 
cyclone was roaring through the grove which sur- 
rounded the house. Another moment and it had 
lifted the house from its foundations, dashed it into 
the barns and whirled the fragments into a scattered 
ruin. 

To Florence clinging convulsively to the frightened, 
crying child there in the dark it seemed as if the very 
world itself were being torn into pieces. The tor- 
rents that fell immediately following the whirlwind 
drenched her and the child. Then great hailstones 
came crashing down and the brave girl crouched 
in a corner of the now open cellar and protected 
the baby with her own body. In the darkness, broken 
by the most vivid streaks of lightning, she heard a 


LEXD A HAND 


13 


voice. It was Donald, who, with his mother and 
Helen, had driven up just as the cyclone had passed. 

“She’s safe, mother! They’re both safe! Thank 
God!” Donald cried, slipping down the wet walls and 
scrambling over the ruins that lay about. The 
mother and Helen ran up and all rejoiced together 
even with the storm still howling fearfully around 
them and a darkness unnatural and dense still blot- 
ting out the middle of that afternoon. 

Then as the storm gradually ceased and the light 
came back, they all huddled together, becoming con- 
scious of the total ruin wrought to property and 
crops. But where was the father? Donald thought 
it and Mrs. Wallace spoke it. 

They began at once to search for him, Florence 
carrying the baby and Donald leading and carrying 
by turns Helen. Mrs. Wallace was calm, but deathly 
pale. She and Donald had actually seen the farm 
house lifted from its place, whirled up like a toy and 
dashed down as if with intelligent malignity. She 
had feared the worst for her baby and Florence. 
They were alive as by a miracle, but how about her 
husband? 

Out by the old fringe of timber, by the brook 
which was now a sullen, muddy stream twenty feet 
wide, they came upon the body of Richard Wallace. 
He lay under the trunk of a large tree, his face 
peaceful enough, killed instantly. The little group 
kneeled about the silent form, and in the whole wide 
universe of suffering it seemed to them in that mo- 
ment of awe and grief as if God had gone out of hia 


14 


LEND A HAND 


world and left no one in charge of his children except 
the spirit of accident and caprice. 

Judge Brewster sat in his library reading. It was 
a winter afternoon and a storm was sweeping over 
Summit Hill. The snow piled up around the old 
brick house in heaps of fantastic design and the wind 
howled over the chimneys and blew into fierce jets 
the generous fire in the grate. 

The judge was evidently not very much interested 
in his book. Once he laid it down and walked over 
to the window and looked out. Then he came back 
to his chair and sat for several minutes looking into 
the fire. 

He had picked up his book again and was carelessly 
turning over its leaves when the door-bell rang, and 
a moment later the servant came to the library door. 

“There is a young man wants to see you, sir.” 

The judge did not even turn around in his chair. 
He said curtly : 

“Tell him to come in here.” 

The servant looked surprised, but after a moment 
of hesitation she went out again. 

The judge still continued to sit in front of the fire 
with his back to the door. When the young man 
entered the library the judge remained seated in the 
same position. 

There was a moment of awkward silence. The 
judge finally broke it by saying, still not turning 
around : 

“Well, what do you want?” 


LEND A HAND 


15 


“I don’t want anything, sir, unless you are willing 
to grant my request in the same spirit that I make 
it.” 

Judge Brewster turned around suddenly and con- 
i fronted the speaker. What he saw was a young man 
| about twenty-one, with a frank, clear-eyed face and a 
very determined and intelligent look in his eyes. The 
judge was interested in spite of his nature. Still he 
did not ask his visitor to take a seat. 

“What do you want?” he asked again, this time a 
shade less curtly. 

“I want to borrow some books if you are willing to 
lend them.” 

“Borrow some books !” the judge exclaimed. It is 
doubtful if he had ever loaned a book in his life. 

“Yes, sir. I am studying certain subjects out on 
i a farm and I have used up all the books from the 
i library in town that will help me. I have heard of 
your library, of course. It is said to be the best in 
the State. I thought it would do no harm to come 
and ask you, sir, if you were willing to loan me cer- 
tain volumes. You could do no more than refuse 
me, at any rate.” 

The young man paused suddenly, as if he had a fear 
of making too long a speech, and looked around at the 
rich book shelves with a hungry glance that had some 
effect on the judge. 

“Won’t you sit down?” he said, after a pause, 
during which he had stared hard at the young man. 

The visitor took a chair, and looked at the judge 
calmly. Judge Brewster coughed a little nervously. 


16 


LEND A HAND 


“What’s your name, young man?” 

“Wallace — Donald Wallace. I live on a farm four 
miles west of town.” 

“Ah! you are the Wallace whose father was killed 
in the cyclone three years ago?” 

“Yes, sir. The same week that you ” 

“What is that? Go on.” 

“The same week that you lost your son, sir. Par- 
don me, if I ought not to have mentioned it. Father 
was talking of your loss only two days before he was 
killed.” 

“By an accident,” said the judge in a low voice. 
He turned around to the fire and stared into it so 
long that Donald was afraid he had forgotten that he 
had a visitor. 

After a while the judge turned around again. 

“What books do you want to borrow?” he asked 
abruptly. 

“I want especially some books on English History 
and Literature. You see I am studying in the Chau- 
tauqua course and I want to supplement it with side 
reading. I have Joy’s ‘Twenty Centuries of English 
History’ and Judson’s ‘Europe in the Nineteenth 
Century’ and Professor Beer’s ‘From Chaucer to 
Tennyson’ and Miss Hale’s ‘Men and Manners of 
the Eighteenth Century’ and Winchell’s ‘Walks and 
Talks in the Geological Field.’ Now there are cer- 
tain books bearing on all these subjects that I am 
anxious to get. They are expensive books and I have 
thought a good many times this year about asking 
you for the loan of a few books from your library, but 


LEND A HAND 


17 


I never could quite get up the courage to come and 
ask. I don’t think I’m very brave naturally.” 

The judge moved a little uneasily. 

“But you finally did pick out a nice day to come 
and test your courage?” he said with a short laugh. 

“I don’t mind a little storm like this,” replied 
Donald simply. 

“Did you come in from the farm just on purpose 
to ask for these books?” 

“Yes, sir. In the winter time we have a good deal 
of leisure on the farm, and the evenings are the best 
times for reading.” 

There was another pause and the judge stared 
hard under his great eyebrows at the sturdy young 
farmer. 

“Are you studying and reading all alone?” 

“No, sir. There is a young lady studying the 
course with me.” There was a shade of embarrass- 
ment in Donald’s tone that the sharp-eared judge 
detected. 

“Your sister, did you say?” 

“No, sir. She is a young lady who has worked in 
our family several years.” 

“You mean the hired girl?” asked the judge with 
coarse blunt ness. 

Donald looked very direct into the judge’s face. 

“That is not what any gentleman would call her, 
sir.” 

The judge chuckled. He was amused and begin- 
ning to be interested. 

“Then you and this young lady are pursuing this 


18 


LEXD A HAND 


Chautauqua course together. How long a course is 
it?” 

“Four years. We expect to graduate next year.” 

“And then what?” 

Donald colored. “Really, sir, am I obliged to 
answer? Is this a court room?” 

The judge smiled. The first time he had smiled 
that way since his son died. 

“Good! I don’t blame you, young man. But why 
don’t you take a regular college course, instead of 
this Chautauqua plan?” 

“I can’t leave mother and the girls, my sisters. 
You see, sir, since father’s death we have had a suc- 
cession of poor crops and there has been nothing for 
me to do but stay by and do the best I can. Mother 
has never been well since father was killed.” 

There was another moment of silence in the library. 
The judge moved again uneasily. The storm outside 
seemed to be increasing. 

“Suppose I should lend you some books. I sup- 
pose you would never return them. That’s the way 
with all book borrowers!” the judge growled. 

“No fear of that, sir,” replied Donald with a 
smile. “I’ll return them fast enough in order to get 
more.” 

“You will, eh?” snarled the judge. But his look 
was not as fierce as his voice. 

“I’m not in the habit of loaning books,” he con- 
tinued shortly. 

“So I’ve heard,” replied Donald simply. 

“You have, eh? Well, it’s nobody’s business. 


LEND A HAND 


19 


But suppose I let you take a book or two, will you 
promise to return them on the time that I say?” 

“Yes, sir, whatever I promise I’ll live up to,” said 
Donald earnestly. 

The judge hesitated. Why should he acknowledge 
a growing interest in this young fellow? He was 
about the age his own son would have been if 
he had lived. He was poor, a student evidently, he 
was making a struggle to help his mother, he was 
determined to get an education. The judge drifted 
back in memory to his own meagre, starved boyhood, 
and its bitter fight for a college course. He had 
hoped to save his own boy from such an experience 
by giving him all the help his father had lacked. 
Could he pass it on now in some way to this other 
young man who had come four miles through such a 
storm to ask such a small favor? 

“What books do you want?” The voice came out 
of an ungracious silence and made Donald start. 

“If you would let me look over your list of English 
poets, sir?” asked Donald quietly. 

“You’ll find them on the third shelf there at your 
left,” said the judge briefly, and Donald walked over 
to it and was soon lost to all knowledge of the judge 
and the storm and his surroundings. 

The judge watched him from under his heavy 
eyebrows, and a smile of real pleasure crossed his face 
as he noted the fact that his visitor was already a 
thousand miles away from the place where he was 
standing. 

Five minutes went by. It was getting darker and 


20 


LEND A HAND 


darker in tlie library, but Donald had happened to 
take down one of the volumes of English poets 
printed in unusually large type, and he read on, 
oblivious of everything. 

“When you get through the book, young man,” 
said the judge suddenly, “it will be supper time.” 

Donald made no sign that he heard any one speak. 
The spell of the book was upon him. The judge 
watched him with increasing interest. 

“If he were my own boy, now,” muttered the 
judge. Then he spoke to Donald again. 

‘ ‘ Have you ever been to Chautauqua? I suppose not?’ ’ 

Donald turned over a leaf and read on. The judge 
smiled again, and then he suddenly rose and walked 
over to the large west window and pulled down the 
heavy curtain. 

The effect was very much the same as when, years 
before, Florence had blown out the little kerosene 
lamp. Donald stood in the dark, feeling of the book 
and wondering at first what had happened. Then 
he stammered : 

“I beg pardon, sir. I forgot where I was.” 

“That’s all right,” said the judge, a little gruffly. 
“It’s time to turn on the light, and I always hate to 
mix sun and electricity.” 

He touched the key and turned on a blaze of 
illumination that was in startling contrast with the 
twilight of a moment before. Donald, with the book 
in his hand, still stood by the shelves. 

“Well, is that the book you want?” asked the 
judge, going back to his chair. 


LEND A HAND 


21 


“Yes, sir, if you are willing.” 

“You’ll promise to take good care of it, not take it 
out to the barn or leave it in the hay-field over 
night?” said the judge, a little roughly. 

“I think too much of a good hook to abuse it,” 
replied Donald, in a voice that showed he felt hurt by 
the judge’s suspicions. “See here, sir. I brought 
this to carry the books in.” 

Donald drew out of his pocket a large piece of oil- 
skin which he had cut out and arranged in a pocket- 
like form and had used several times in carrying the 
books he had already borrowed. 

“Umph! Not had! So you expected to get 
something when you came to see me?” 

“Yes, sir, I had faith enough to come prepared.” 

“Help yourself, then.” 

“I’ll take just this one, and the volume on Tenny- 
son for Florence, if you are willing.” 

“You can take them on one condition, that you 
return them promptly at two o’clock three weeks 
from to-day. Will you do that?” 

“I will, if it is possible for me to come,” replied 
Donald, sturdily, as he rolled the oil-skin about the 
books and tied them up carefully. He took up his 
hat and made a step towards the door. The judge 
was still watching him curiously. 

“Better stay to supper,” he said abruptly. 

Donald said in telling his experience to the family 
afterwards, “I was just taken off my feet by the invi- 
tation. ” Outwardly he showed no surprise to the 
judge. 


22 


LEND A HAND 


“Thank you, sir, but I couldn’t. Mother would 
be anxious about me. I don’t mind the storm.” 

The judge let him get as far as the door. Then 
he called out to him : 

“If you find the storm too bad, come back and stay 
over night.” 

“Thank you, sir, I don’t think I shall. I’m used 
to being out in rough weather, and I rather like it.” 

He went out and left the judge still sitting by his 
open fire surrounded by his shelves of books. But 
he was not the same man who had sat there an hour 
before. Another human being had come into his 
thought, and as he idly turned another leaf of his 
book he turned the leaf of a new experience with 
more interest in his old heart than he had felt for 
many a weary year. 

“A young woman to see you, sir,” said the servant 
to Judge Brewster as he sat in his library. 

The judge took out his watch. 

“Five minutes of two. If that young man doesn’t 
come back with those books right on time I’ll never 
have any interest in another human being. They’re 
all alike.” 

“Show her in here,” he added, in a louder tone. 

There came into the library a young woman who 
looked frankly and pleasantly at the judge. He 
could not help himself when he said out of his starved 
old heart: “I like her face.” 

“I’m Miss Raynor, and I’ve brought back the 
books that Mr. Wallace borrowed three weeks ago. 


LEND A HAND 


23 


Donald — Mr. Wallace” (the girl colored slightly) 
“was hurt last week in the wood lot, and is not able 
to walk yet.” 

“Seriously hurt?” asked the judge quickly, as he 
rose and motioned Florence to a seat. 

“No, sir, we hope not. A tree that he was chop- 
ping down fell on him. The doctor thinks he will 
not be crippled. We had fears ” 

The girl suddenly paused, and the judge noted her 
intelligent face with growing interest. There was 
also a tremor in the girl’s voice that told the judge 
something more. He was rough enough to take 
advantage of it. 

“What difference does it make to you if he was 
crippled?” 

The girl colored, then turned pale, and she rose. 

“Do you mean to say, sir, that ” 

She was turning towards the door, when the judge 
rose and did what he had not done for years. He 
apologized. Afterwards he remembered that the 
young woman was a hired girl. Nevertheless, it was 
with a grim sense of the unusual situation that he 
said : 

“I beg pardon, Miss Eaynor. I am a selfish, 
mean old man. Pray sit down again. It was alto- 
gether wrong for me to speak as I did. ” 

Florence smiled and sat down, looking at the judge 
with eyes that had traces of tears in them. 

“Now then, my dear young woman, I suppose you 
want more books. I hope the young man is able to 
read while he is on the invalid list.” 


24 


LEND A IIAND 


“Indeed, he is!” replied Florence, eagerly. “His 
mother says he will probably be willing to remain an 
invalid the rest of the winter, as long as he can get 
new books.” 

“Then I had better not let him have any more. ” 

“But I hope you will, sir. You see, we are plan- 
ning to finish this course and graduate next year. 
We want to supplement the prescribed reading with 
a great deal more. You have no idea ” 

The girl was going on eagerly, and the judge was 
watching her as he had watched Donald. She 
stopped suddenly and seemed confused by the judge’s 
look. 

“Excuse me. But will you think me rude if I ask 
a question?” The judge spoke almost gently. 

“No, sir,” said Florence, wonderingly, although 
Donald’s account of his interview had prepared her 
somewhat. 

“Do I understand that you work in the kitchen on 
the Wallace farm?” 

“Yes, sir, of course,” answered Florence, with an 
amused look. 

“And yet you want to borrow books on English 
Literature? Now, the girls in my kitchen never 
want to read English Literature.” 

“How do you know they don’t, sir? Did you ever 
talk with them about it?” 

The judge stared. 

“Talk with them about it? Why, I should think 
not.” 

“You have a good many beautiful books in the 


LEND A IIAND 


25 


house. I should think the girls would be interested 
in some of them,”' continued Florence, simply, 
unconsciously smiting the judge’s selfish indifference 
to the humanity nearest him a tremendous blow that 
even he felt. 

“Why, why — what business is it of theirs ” he 

began to stammer angrily. Then he suddenly 
checked himself and sat staring at the hearty, healthy 
face opposite. 

“You mustn’t think that all the girls in kitchens 
are like you or all the young men on farms are like 
Donald.” 

“No, sir,” murmured Florence, looking down at 
her hands. Then she lifted her eyes and spoke 
earnestly. 

“But it must be a great power to possess, to have 
beautiful books and fine pictures, and an education 
and all the things that so many people would like to 
enjoy. I am sure we owe much to you, sir, for your 
kindness in loaning us the books.” 

Again the judge sat still, in silence staring at his 
visitor. There were things stirred in him by what 
she said that he was unwilling to look into carefully. 
It made him too uncomfortable. 

“If you’ll tell me what books you want, I’ll bring 
them out myself. I want to see how the young man 
is getting on.” 

There was an abruptness about the judge’s proposi- 
tion that made Florence speechless. 

“I drove in with the farm wagon,” she began. 

“I’ll go out with my buggy,” said the judge 


26 


LEND A HAND 


briefly. And half an hour later he was on the way, 
following the farm wagon in which was a young 
woman considerably bewildered by the outcome of 
her first visit to old Judge Brewster’s. 

“Then, I understand, Mr. Wallace, that you refuse 
my offer?” said the judge, as he walked up and down 
in the familiar library. 

“Yes, sir, I think I ought not to accept the 
money.” 

The great west window was open, and the warm 
scent of fruit and flowers from the garden blew into 
the room on the June breeze. 

The judge stopped by the window a moment and 
looked out. Then he turned abruptly round and 
blurted out : 

“It’s ungrateful in you. Don’t you want to go?” 

“Yes, sir, of course I do.” 

“And yet you refuse the chance to go that is 
offered. Will you take it in the name of my boy, who 
would have graduated next week if he ” 

“No,” replied Donald, gently. “I cannot take it 
even in his name. I do not want you to help me in 
that way.” 

“What way, then?” growled the judge. 

Donald hesitated. “I’m not the only young man, 
nor Florence the only young woman, who needs an 
education, sir. Just think of the large number of 
young people in Waverley who are not able to go to 
college! I would rather you would help some of 
them as you have helped me. Now, your library — ” 


LEND A HAND 


27 


Donald paused, and the judge glowered at him 
from under his formidable eyebrows. 

“Your library, sir — why should it exist here with 
all its wealth of helpfulness unused? There are 
scores of people in the town and out on the farms 
who would he wonderfully helped if in some way you 
could get them and the books together, just as you 
have allowed me to come.” 

“It would he a great scheme, wouldn’t it, to turn 
my library into a circulating library, and for me to 
turn myself into a librarian and general director of 
useful reading for country people who can’t afford to 
go to college?” asked the judge, sarcastically. 

“Yes, sir, I think that would be a good thing for 
you to do,” replied Donald quietly, so quietly that 
the judge stared at him hard. 

“You see, sir,” Donald ventured to continue, 
“ever since you came out to the farm that day when 
I was lying on my hack after that accident, I have 
been doing a good deal of thinking along this line. 
You have done so much for me since that I cannot 
help wishing the same help might in some way come 
to other farmers’ boys and girls and a good many 
others right here in Waverley. With a library like 
this, and” — Donald hesitated — “and with your intel- 
lect to direct its use or even to find out those who 
would be helped, it would be a wonderful blessing to 
very many young people.” 

The judge did not say anything, and Donald 
walked over to the shelves like a person who was in 
the familiar habit of doing so, and took down a book. 


28 


LEND A HAND 


He was soon absorbed in his volume, and did not 
hear the judge when he went out of the room. 
When he was ready to leave the house, Donald could 
not find him. He was not in his room, the servant 
said, and Donald went slowly back to the farm, 
thinking hard of the interview he had had with Judge 
Brewster, and wondering if anything would come 
of it. 

That evening he told his mother about the judge’s 
offer to send him to Chautauqua. 

“Oh, why didn’t you accept it?” cried the mother 
with enthusiasm. 

“I didn’t need it. I have saved up money enough 
of my own. Besides” — Donald went on slowly — “I 
don’t care to go to Chautauqua alone.” 

Florence was in the kitchen finishing up the day’s 
work. Mrs. Wallace sat looking at her son, and she 
seemed on the point of offering a suggestion, but 
after a few moments she went upstairs and Donald 
opened a book and began to read. 

He read a little while, but did not seem interested, 
and finally, with a curious movement of hesitation, 
he laid the book down and went out into the kitchen. 

“Don’t you want a pail of water?” he asked. 

Florence looked up from her work in astonishment. 
But a wave of color crossed her face and made it look 
quite pretty, as she stood there. 

“Yes, if you can spare time from your reading to 
get it.” 

Donald took up the pail and went out without a 
word. When he came back he set the pail down on 


LEND A HAND 


29 


the sink shelf and offered to wipe the dishes. Flor- 
ence gave him a towel, and for a moment there was 
an awkward silence. 

4 ‘I have decided to go to Chautauqua after all,” 
Donald said, as he laid a plate down on the table. 

“Have you?” Florence spoke with an attempt at 
indifference, but she was trembling. 

“Yes, you know we have finished the course, and I 
want to be at Chautauqua on Recognition Day. I 
have made enough money on the farm this year to go 
all right.” 

4 4 It will be very pleasant for you,” said Florence* 
choking down something very much like a sob. 

“Well, it certainly will if — you see, I have decided 
that I don’t care to go alone,” Donald continued, 
wiping a saucer very hard. 

Florence bent her head over the dishpan, and 
Donald kept on wiping the saucer, which was now 
polished exceedingly dry. 

He paused suddenly, laid the saucer down and 
went over to Florence and put his hand on hei 
shoulder. 

“Dear,” he said, “I want you to go with me as 
my wife. Will you? It will be your wedding 
journey.” 

The girl looked up at him, the great joy of a 
transforming love in her eyes. 

4 4 Do you mean it — Donald?” She spoke the 
familiar name with a new tone of voice. 

“You know I do, dear; you know I have loved you 
for a long time, don’t you?” 


30 


LEND A HAND 


“Yes,” she answered simply, still looking at him. 

“And,” continued Donald, with a tremor that was 
not fear, “you have loved me?” 

“Longer than you have loved me,” she answered, 
and Donald Wallace then and there took advantage 
of his future wife’s hands being in the dish -pan to 
kiss her, because her eyes told him that he might. 

After a moment Florence said, with a sober face 
that could not conceal her happiness : 

“I’m afraid you have not counted all the cost, sir, 
in loving a ‘hired girl. ’ ” 

“No, I shall never be able to measure what it is 
worth to me.” 

“But I am afraid we cannot both go to Chautauqua. 
How about the money?” 

“I have enough. The crops have turned out beau- 
tifully.” 

“Your mother ” 

“Mother and the girls can get on nicely, and I 
have made arrangements with Petersen to manage the 
farm in August.” 

“You must have taken some things for granted, 
sir, when you made all these plans. ” 

“Yes,” said Donald, laughing lightly, and Flor- 
ence joined him. 

She wiped her hands and went upstairs to her 
room. She soon came down with a small box, which 
she placed in Donald’s hands. 

“It is my wedding dowry,” she said simply. 

He opened it and saw notes and silver. 

“It is every cent of it what I have saved from my 


LEND A HAND 


31 


wages here in seven years,” she said, with some 
pride. 

Donald gravely counted it. “Four hundred and 
seventy- three dollars! Please remember, ma’am, 
that I proposed to you before I had a hint that you 
possessed this wealth!” 

“Do you think it will be enough to keep us in 
Chautauqua a week?” asked Florence, as she stood 
by her lover enjoying his surprise. 

“At least a month, I should say, besides buying 
two or three books, for ourselves and — for others.” 

“And for others,” echoed Florence, looking up at 
her future husband with tears of joy. 

On Recognition Day there walked down through 
the arches two of the happiest people in all Chautau- 
qua. Everybody knew they were bride and groom, 
but nobody, except a very few, knew the little history 
that lay back of those happy faces, the man’s self- 
reliant, sturdy, honest, noble; the woman’s refined, 
loving, gentle, winsome. So much had study, and 
reverence for true learning and true love for each 
other wrought out in these two lives of workers, these 
two children of a common Father. 

Back in Waverley in a library that had witnessed 
more than one transforming scene in a hard heart, an 
old man was walking up and down. The August 
heat was on the land, and the hum of its insect life 
droned into the stillness of the richly furnished 


room. 


32 


LEND A HAND 


The old man laid a letter down on the table. 

“Those young people seem to be enjoying their 
honeymoon there at Chautauqua. I’m not sorry I 
had a little share in it. But I’m too old to redeem a 
selfish past. Am I? What can old age, childless old 
age like mine, do for youth?” 

He asked the question aloud, hut did not answer it. 
After a while he sat down in his familiar chair and 
took up a hook. But he did not read. The vision 
of what he might do with his wealth and his books 
and his intellect to bless the world became a vision 
that revealed to his selfishly encrusted habits the 
possibility of even his old age to forget its bitter 
losses, come out of its narrow seclusion and Lend a 
Hand to the heart and mind of other children of 
God who were struggling into the light. And while 
this vision grew brighter, Donald and Florence came 
to the shore of the lake and looked out at the sunset. 

“It will be a beautiful day to-morrow, dear,” said 
Donald, gently. 

“Yes, to-morrow,” said Florence, softly. 


THE END 


THE QUIET HOUR SERIES 


This is an age of condensation- 
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series is to supply just such books. 
A glance at subjects and authors is 
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Each bound in ivory buckram , 
stamped on front and re - 
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How the Inner Light Failed. A Study of the 
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Hillis, author of “A Man’s Value to Society,” “The 
Investment of Influence,” etc., etc. 

The Man ‘Who "Wanted to Help. By Rev. J.G.K. 
McClure, D. D., Pres. Lake Forest University. 

Young Men in History. By Rev. F. W. Gun- 

saulus, D. D. 

St. Paul; An Autobiography. 

Faith Building. By Rev. Wm. P. Merrill, D. D. 

The Dearest Psalm and the Model Prayer. By 

Henry Ostrom, D. D. 

The Life Beyond. By Mrs. Alfred Gatty* 
Adapted by M. A. T. 

Mountain Tops with Jesus. By Rev. Theodore 
L. Cuyler, D. D. 

A Life for a Life, and other Addresses. By 
Henry Drummond. With tribute by D. L. Moody, 
and portrait. 

Peace, Perfect Peace, By Rev. F. B. Meyer, B.A. 

For the sorrowing. 

Money: Thoughts for God's Stewards. By Rev. 

Andrew Murray. 

Jesus Himself. By Rev. Andrew Murray. 

Love Made Perfect. By Rev. Andrew Murray. 

The Ivory Palaces of the King. By Rev. J. Wil- 
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Christ Reflected in Creation. By D. C. McMillan 




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main object of all these writers is 
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start with the presupposition, 
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Long 1 6mo., decorated cloth , each, 50c. 

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Sin and its Conquerors. Dean F arrar. 
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Cheer for Life’s Pilgrimage. Rev. F. B. Meyer. 
The True Vine. Meditations on John xv. 1 - 16. 
Rev. Andrew Murray. 

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Gregor, M. A. 

Saved and Kept. Rev. F. B. Meyer. 

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Waiting on God. Rev. Andrew Murray. 

Inspired Through Sufferingo Rev. D. O. Mears. 
Life’s Everydayness. Papers for Women. Rose 
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Foretokens of Immortality. Newell Dwight Hillis. 
Yet Speaking. Rev. A. J. Gordon, D. D. 

I Believe, Rev. John Henry Barrows. 

A Holy Life, and How to Live It. Rev. G. H 
C. MacGregor, M. A. 




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Decorated $a$er, each , 
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Expectation Comer. E. S. Elliott. 

The Seventh Commandment. Rev. James Stal- 
ker, D.D. 

Temptation. A Talk to Young Men. Rev. 
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The Dew of Thy Youth. Rev. J.R. Miller, D.D. 

The Fight of Faith and the Cost of Character. 

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Hope: The Last Thing in the World. Rev. A. 
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The First Thing in the World: or, The Primacy 

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Love, The Supreme Gift: The Greatest Thing in 
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UP - 2 86. 

















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PLA* 0 


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~ /yS/ 32084 ^ 





